Pairing: Mystwalker
Rating: T for language (Knightwalker doesn't exactly censor herself well.)
AN 1: totally au, btdubs. modern day basically, and a lot of this is inspired by me talking to mah canadian lover. so yeah, enjoy?
Disclaimer: Disclaimed
you're a tragedy, a queen for his majesty
The first time Jellal Mystogan spoke to Erza Knightwalker, they were five years old. She had just saved him from a bunch of bullies , beating them up when they had targeted the kind-hearted boy with the weird markings on his face. Looking up at the redhead in the baggy t-shirt and jean shorts, band-aids on her arms and skinned knees as she offered him her hand to help him up, Jellal was in awe of how she had just shown up and taken down three boys, all bigger than her. She was a tornado, he decided, a red tornado of energy.
"Ignore them, they're just jerks," she commented, shooting the bullies in question a scathing look as they ran crying to find an adult. "Picking on someone smaller, it's stupid. My father always says so. 'M Erza, by the way. Erza Knightwalker. What's your name?"
Taking the offered hand, he let her pull him up. She was stronger than she looked, he realized, as if that previous display hadn't made that obvious. "Jellal. Nice to meet you Erza-chan." He smiled, brushing off the dirt from when he was shoved down in an attempt to break his habit of being kind to everyone. It didn't work, thanks to his savior.
The flush that crossed her cheeks was cute, he thought, but when he pointed it out, she just punched his arm and told him to shut up.
The first time Jellal needed Erza more than anyone else was six years later. They were best friends by this point, and even though she had gotten a reputation as a wild one, he was always able to even out her fiery temper and keep her from going too far. She was the knight to his kind-hearted ruler, even though they weren't anything like that at all. No, they were just kids, and he was going through one of the biggest tragedies an eleven-year-old could face.
She stood next to him at his mother's funeral, and held his hand tightly as he tried not to cry. Erza always did say that crying was pointless, and only made you look weak. And he was a boy, and they weren't supposed to do that anyway.
Still, it meant a lot to him when she leaned over to whisper "It's alright Jellal, you can cry about this." This was confirmed with a tight squeeze of his hand, and a shaky smile from her. He could see tears forming at the corners of her brown eyes, but her iron will was keeping them from falling. That was what sent him over, and he leaned over to bury his face in the shoulder of the black dress her mother had forced her to wear to the funeral and stain it with his tears.
He could've sworn he felt her shake with unshed tears as he did so.
The first time Jellal wished he could see her; he was too far away to do so. His father had lost his mind during the year following his mother's death, and had decided that his son's "weakness" was not something he could condone any further. So he disowned the boy, forcing Jellal to find somewhere else to live, and to grow up far faster than he was supposed to.
Losing his father was one thing, but what hurt him the most was the loss of his best friend. She had watched him leave, questions obvious in her eyes. He had sent letter after letter to her, once he had taken up residence at an old friend of his family's place, telling her exactly what had happened, but she never replied.
He had no idea that Faust was busy taking the hurt and broken girl and molding her into something filled with anger, keeping his letters from reaching her.
The first time he honestly wanted to hit Erza was when they were both nineteen. He had been heading back to his apartment, just minding his own business, when he heard someone moan in pain down an alley. Being the kind boy — man? — he was, Jellal made his way down to see if he could help.
He never expected to see that flash of crimson red hair.
Erza had changed in those seven years, and not just physically. Though, admittingly, that was what he noticed first. Gone was the shorts and baggy shirts, her red hair cropped short to be less of a problem in one of her many fights. In their place was a pair of tight dark-washed jeans, a black tank top, and a messy ponytail. She had finally embraced her femininity, it seemed, and he would be a liar if he said he didn't see the curves she now had aplenty.
But that was just the first glance. As she looked over, he saw no kindness, no humanity, in those brown eyes. Erza stood, and the smirk that crossed those red lips was not kind at all. "Well well, if it isn't you. Long time no see, ne Jellal?" The coldness in her voice sent shivers down his spine. "I'd love to chat, but I'm a little busy, if you haven't noticed. Run along now."
Glancing at the male propped up against the wall, Jellal recognized one of his classmates, someone he had talked to just the other day, under the blood and bruising. "What the…? Erza, what are you doing?" This wasn't the girl he knew, not at all.
The laugh that rang out wasn't her either. It was cruel, and filled with hatred. "You mean it's not obvious? This fucktard was on my turf. I defend what is mine. Now, I'm being nice. Get the hell out of here before I decide to let my men do the same to you." For the first time he noticed the other males around her, obviously deferring to her judgment on this matter.
Shooting her a last incredulous stare, he left, but not before one last statement. "I swear, I will find out what happened, or I'll die trying." Her cold laugh haunted his sleep that night.
The first time Jellal thought that maybe Erza was a bad idea for him in the first place was less than a year later. This was about the time that he was laying in his bed; staring at the empty place she had been when he had fallen asleep that night. Perhaps the pounding headache was a part of it, or the lingering scent of smoke from her cigarettes, but he had a feeling she might not be the one he needed. Not the way she was now.
God, he didn't know how to fix this. She was so angry, so filled with pain, and she blamed everything on him. Jellal could see Faust's fingerprints all over this, and it killed him to watch her suffer as much. Glancing over at the place besides him, he sighed. It was like she was a drug, one he was addicted to as much as she was to cigarettes.
But… Damn… Lying back against the pillows, he tried to remember what the hell happened the previous night. Judging by the condoms on the floor of his bedroom, sex had happened — and there was protection, thank god — but other than that, it was a blur.
One that had given him some deep scratches on his chest, it seems. An image of a beautiful redhead on top of him came to mind, nails digging into his skin as she tossed her head back and screamed out his name. That would explain the scratches, he figured, but not why she was gone.
Part of him wanted to remember, but most of him was desperate to forget.
The first time he realized that he loved her, he had just woken up from a coma, brought on by some thugs under her command — but paid off by Faust. It seemed that his father had ordered his death, but she had refused to condone it. He had gotten through to her finally, and it was a sweet feeling to know this. Of course, he had passed out from blood loss soon after, but she was back. The Erza he had been friends with. The woman he knew she still was.
According to one of the nurses, a brown-eyed young woman with bright red hair had been visiting him while he was still unconscious. She would just sit next to his bed, muttering something softly whenever no one was in the room with her, once even crying.
Jellal smiled at the news. He knew just where he had to go after he was discharged.
The first time he saw her cry was in his apartment, as he returned from throwing away another pack of cigarettes he had found. She needed to quit, and he would do whatever he could to fix that after all. Passing the kitchen, he saw her sitting on the floor, her face hidden in her knees as her shoulders shook with the force of her tears. "Erza…?" He didn't think that just a loss of cigarettes would do this to her, as it wasn't the first time that had happened since the two had finally gotten together, but still, he was worried. Crouching down next to her, the blue-haired male slid an arm around the woman. "What's wrong?" They had made it through so much together, her joining the military, him opening up his café, not to mention the trial and conviction of his father for attempted murder. Erza's testimony had been what had finally sent the man to justice, and Jellal was glad of that. Whatever it was that had her upset now, they could make it through. Of that much, he was certain.
Still, he didn't expect to have her lean against his chest, taking the comfort he was offering like it was what was keeping her together. Normally she just shrugged it off, too stubborn to admit she needed help. A slight frown crossed his lips as she mumbled something into his shirt, too muffled for him to understand. "What was that, love?" The punch she gave him for being too sappy, as she always put it, lacked even the little bit of strength she usually put behind it, as if the woman was too upset to even try negative reinforcement.
Finally, she got out the words. "Jellal… I'm pregnant…"
The first time Jellal Mystogan told Erza Knightwalker she was beautiful was on their wedding day. It wasn't a big affair, much to her mother's dismay; instead they had a small ceremony, with one of her brothers as a witness. The bride didn't wear a white dress, but jeans and a t-shirt that tried to hide her swelling stomach. He wasn't dressed formally either. But still, he wouldn't have changed anything, as he kissed his now-wife, brushing the strands of hair from her face and smiling at her.
After all, he always knew they would end up together.
AN 2: not a huge fan of the ending, but I was lost after the next to last bit. [/shrugs] lyrics at the beginning are from "Candle (Sick and Tired)" by The White Tie Affair.